


A Bra on the Floor

by MyrddinDerwydd



Series: 30 Days of Dragon Age [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Assault, Bathing, Discrimination, Gen, Harassment, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrddinDerwydd/pseuds/MyrddinDerwydd
Summary: Cassandra really just isn't a great 'people person.' It's good that Brigit is.Warnings: non-sexual nudity, non-graphic references/discussion of sexual harassment and assault.Writing Masterpost, organized by main character.





	A Bra on the Floor

Trevelyan shed clothing like an oiled blade shed water. 

The two of them were in the changing area of the baths beneath Skyhold, peeling off armor and clothing after a particularly competetive sparring match had become a brawl on the ground. The huge stone chamber was empty, as sensible people were on their way to lunch at this hour, not covered in half-frozen mud. Cassandra glared at the red-headed woman who had ultimately won, pinning her to to the ground and using her own shield against her.

“That is  _ not _ how the two of us are expected to behave, Inquisitor.” She held tight to the disapproval in her tone, though she truly admired Trevelyan’s ability to relate to the soldiers and common people in Skyhold. It was so different than her solitary, if effective, destruction of training dummies. 

Trevelyan grunted, tossing her padded gambeson into a basin for dirty training gear. It was quickly followed by a normally red shirt, and more slowly by Cassandra’s own gambeson. They had realized early on that it was a waste of time to have every single fighter trying to wash their soppy, battered gear after a day like this. Simpler to organize it together. 

“They’ll remember it, and I won’t have to knock any of  _ them  _ on their asses,” Trevelyan replied with a smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes though, Cassandra noted. “Are you sore that I bested you, Seeker?” She rolled her right shoulder, working at a sore spot before sliding off breeches that were slick with mud from the knees down.

“No, that isn’t the problem.” She unbuckled her blackened leather boots and pulled them off, rinsing them off beneath a spout and sitting them beside Trevelyan’s brown ones. “Did you not hear them shouting as we fought? Varric was taking bets on more than just who would win, I would wager.” 

“ _ That’s _ what bothered you?” The Inquisitor’s snort would have made a horse proud. “They bet on shit like that whenever almost anyone draws a crowd. I take it as reassurance that they’re paying attention to the fight.” 

Trevelyan knelt down in her smallclothes and stuck one pale, muddy leg under the spout. She could scarcely believe how casual she was about certain things - being ogled by the Inquisition soldiers, for example - but absolutely the formal, noble lady on so many other occasions. Cassandra scowled at the floor as she stripped off her own worn practice shirt and tossed it aside. The warmth of ‘The Wolf Room,’ as it was slowly being called, after the open jaws surrounding the heat runes of the ancient baths, was welcome as her hair stiffly scattered cold mud down her back.

“There are limits, Cassandra, and I learned them from nearly a decade in the camps.” Trevelyan untied her breastband and tossed her smallclothes aside in the awkward silence. “It is much safer for them to stare at my ass in the practice ring, and not underestimate me when they’re deep in their cups later. It helps you too, and everyone in the Inquisition.” 

“How does us brawling help some scullery maid?” Cassandra’s gaze snapped up in confusion, only to find the red-head staring at her, one hand planted on a curvy naked hip. 

Trevelyan let out a sigh. “You are being as slow about this as you are to undress. Perhaps your Seeker recruits are well behaved, but most soldiers are obnoxious and randy, young and old.” She beckoned impatiently at Cassandra’s clothing, hurrying her. 

“They see someone unexpected hold their own in a scrap?” A sharp nod, confident. “One more ounce of respect we’ve earned for everyone. One more doubt in their minds.” 

The Inquisitor’s voice roughened to the coarse chatter of the barracks. “Is she gonna kick my ribs like that Trevelyan bitch did in the ring last week?” She grabbed a towel and gestured with it drunkenly. “Nuh-uh, he might knock out my legs like Pentaghast did.” 

“Fear,” Cassandra reluctantly admitted. “Instill a bit of fear in them, they are less confident they can take advantage of others.” 

“Fear may not be the most  _ noble  _ motivator, but it’s an  _ effective  _ motivator.” Trevelyan shrugged, slinging the towel over her shoulder and unraveling her hair’s messy bun. “Throw in a bit of trust that your commander will back you up, and stop telling people that harassment and assault are normal…” She trailed off with a fierce, charismatic grin. 

Maker, Brigit might not be the most savvy battlefield tactician, but Bann Trevelyan had made a fine choice in assigning his youngest daughter as commander of their troops.

“If one of them calls you a bitch, I will kick them in the ribs,” Cassandra retorted, lips tilting up in a half smile, and flung her muddy breastband to the floor. 


End file.
